


The End.

by checkmate



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, dysmorphia, self esteem problems, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkmate/pseuds/checkmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce looks in the mirror, and doesn't understand why Tony Stark loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and two lines of lyrics in this fic taken from the song 'The End.' by My Chemical Romance, from their album 'The Black Parade'. 
> 
> Enjoy!

> _If you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see…_

Bruce looked. And then he frowned. He looked hard, and he couldn’t see what it was that Tony saw in him.

Tony was flawless. Tony was gorgeous and rich and famous and could be with anyone in the world that he wanted to be with. But he was with Bruce. The only explanation that Bruce could think of was that Tony felt sorry for him. Bruce didn’t need his pity.

> _...You can find out first-hand what it’s like to be me._

* * *

“Have I done something wrong?” The other man asked quietly one afternoon. He peered at Bruce, examining his face closely, and Bruce took a tiny, involuntary step back.

He swallowed. “Yes.” He said eventually. “We can’t do this anymore Tony. We can’t… We’re not a _thing_.” He spat out, a little more bitterly than he’d intended. But the spite was aimed at Bruce, not Tony. He supposed it didn’t sound that way, but if it ostracised Tony, he wasn’t going to complain. It was easier that way.

But Tony just stepped closer again, placing a hand on his shoulder gently. Bruce shrugged it off quickly. “Are you breaking up with me?” Tony breathed. Bruce could only silently nod, pushing himself into the wall to create some space between himself and his now, he guessed, ex-boyfriend. Tony’s lip quivered, and Bruce’s heart ached. Tony’s hand dropped from his shoulder, and he stumbled back quickly. Bruce let out a breath he wasn’t aware that he had been holding.

“I’m gonna-” He muttered awkwardly, and hurried upstairs to his and Tony’s bedroom, and grabbed his battered old suitcase from under the bed.

Tony had bought him so many things while he’d been staying at the tower that they wouldn’t all fit in the bag anymore. He grabbed a few of his old ill-fitting shirts and two pairs of pants, and snapped it shut, leaving the rest scattered across the room. Tony could have them back, or return them, or whatever he wanted. Bruce wasn’t a charity. He didn’t need anyone’s pity.

He picked up his hastily packed case, and carried it downstairs. Tony was waiting for him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Bruce shrugged. “I guess I’ll stay in a hotel for a few days, then probably head back to the East. This is just all too much for me, Tony.” He lied smoothly. Tony bit his lip. Bruce didn’t want to leave, but he also didn’t want his heart broken. He didn’t think he could handle it now. Not like this.

He knew Tony didn’t want him to go either, but in the end, he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Tears poured silently down Bruce’s face as he stepped out onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk.

He stopped at the first cheap hotel he could find that had a room for him, and placed his bag on the bed, sighing, before slipping into the tiny bathroom. The mirror was spotted and dirty, and there was a spider web style crack spreading slowly from the top right corner down the glass. But it didn’t distort the image reflected back at him. Bruce looked at himself, and saw exactly what he saw when he was at Stark Tower.

He saw the ugly glasses perched on a too big nose. He took them off and dropped them in to the sink. And then from behind the discarded glasses, his eyes could be seen more clearly, sunken and shadowed from the stress of several years of both Hulking out, and trying not to.  His skin was discoloured and slightly grey, and lined with wrinkles. A tear leaked, and slid down his cheek, as, with his hand shaking a little, he began to unbutton his shirt, still criticising everything he saw.

There was a loud crash, and Bruce jumped. “Wh- Who’s there?” He called out uncertainly.

“Bruce, I just kicked one door down and fucking hell, I will do it again.” A familiar voice said, hinted with anger from the main room. Bruce hastily wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Tony, _go away_.” He yelled. “I don’t want to see you right now!”

Tony snorted. “I say that is _bullshit_.” And the sound of Tony’s heel smashing into the hinge of the door rang through the room. Realising that a) Tony was going to get in the room whether he liked it or not and b) if he did knock the door down, it would land on him, Bruce unlocked the door hesitantly, his shirt left hanging open.

“Bruce, we need to talk about this.” Tony said, the instant that he walked out.

Bruce shook his head. “No, we don’t. You might find this hard to believe, but some people want more from life than to be your personal fuck toy.” Bruce said, being intentionally hurtful.

A flash of pain and insecurity crossed Tony’s face, and Bruce felt instantly guilty. “Bruce, I-” He started.

“Tony, I don’t need to hear what you have to say. Don’t try to tell me I was ever more than that to you. I’m not an idiot.” Bruce could feel tears building up again, and was determined to not let them fall in front of the other man. He _wasn’t_ weak.

“But you _were_ more than that!” He protested. “You still _are._ Fuck, Bruce, I fucking love you.” Tony looked like tears were going to spill from his eyes too, and Bruce had obviously underestimated his ability as an actor. He should have known though. Tony Stark was good at everything. Tony Stark was _perfect_.

“You don’t need to lie to make me feel better, Tony.” Bruce said tiredly. “It’s not necessary.”

“Who’s lying?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “You seriously think I go around telling a lot of people that I’m in love with them? Because I don’t. You are the fucking love of my life, Bruce.” Tony couldn’t hold back the tears. “Don’t you dare leave me now. _Please_.” Tony Stark was _begging?_

Bruce frowned, and his body betrayed him, and he practically flew at the taller man, pressing their lips together desperately. His body was held in a tight embrace, protective and almost possessive. “Why?” He whispered against Tony’s lips.

“Why the fuck not?” Tony replied. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“No, but… You could have anyone…”

“And I want you.” Tony said simply, setting Bruce free from the cage of arms holding him close.

Bruce didn’t understand. “But… Why?”

Tony looked down at him, frowning. Then he stepped away, and led Bruce to the bed. “Lie down and close your eyes.” He instructed. Bruce did instinctively. He felt Tony’s weight either side of the bed as he hovered over him. “I’ll tell you why.” He whispered. “Because you are a genius, Bruce Banner.” And he pressed a kiss lightly on to his forehead. “You are one of the few people I can deal with talking to for more than five minutes without wanting to break something. You are genuinely kind, and you make me a better person. You are funny, and you put up with all of my crap, and Jesus, you’re so fucking hot, I don’t know how I can control myself.” He ended. He was so close, Bruce could feel his breath tickling his skin.

Bruce couldn’t hold in the sceptical snort.

Tony froze, and the feeling of warm air on Bruce’s face vanished once more. “You don’t think you’re hot?” He said in surprise. “Is this why?” He said suddenly. “Oh God, Bruce, the things you don’t know. The things you don’t see. The things you can’t see.” Bruce squirmed uncomfortably, and Tony lightly placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him still. Bruce felt Tony’s lips brush across his jaw. “You. Are. Beautiful. Bruce. Banner.” He said slowly, punctuating each word with a soft kiss placed across his face and neck. “God, where do I even begin?” Bruce felt lips pressing against the lids of his eyes, and he giggled involuntarily at the sensation. “Your eyes, Bruce. God. They are so deep. So expressive. I could sink into them and never come back.”

“Tony, stop-”

Tony, forever an asshole, continued. “And those freaking glasses. They are so cute, sat on your fucking adorable nose. And then when you get so carried away with science, and you miss a couple of shaves… You have just a few bristles, and you have no idea what kissing you when you’re like that does to me, Bruce.” Tony’s lips had returned to ghosting over Bruce’s jaw, peppering tiny kisses across the bone there. “And, oh, fuck, you just drive me crazy, Bruce. You run your hand through your hair, and it sticks up in crazy directions, and it reminds me of what you look like when we’ve just had sex-”

Bruce opened his eyes cautiously, and looked at Tony in disbelief. “You don’t have to say any of this Tony, I-”

“Oh, fucking hell, Bruce, I know. Do you really think that _Tony Stark_ would be saying this shit just to make you feel good? No. I’m saying it because it’s true. You are so fucking hot, Bruce. Don’t let anyone, yourself included, tell you differently, because that would be a huge lie. I’ve never met anyone like you Bruce. You are beautiful. You are perfect.”

Bruce looked up at the inventor, and a small smile played on his lips. Tony saw it, and captured it with his lips and preserved it forever. “You are _loved_.”


End file.
